The Mogul and the Muscle - Claire Kingsley Page 0,64

leggings, a wide headband in her mass of dark hair.

“Look at you,” Luna said, her eyes bright with enthusiasm.

Daisy was standing with her, decked out in a black bustier, black and pink tulle skirt, and lace gloves. Her hair was a surprisingly normal shade of dirty blond, but it was crimped into beautiful frizzy chaos.

“Holy shit,” Daisy said, looking Jude up and down. She had a neon pink cocktail in her hand. “This is fucking epic.”

Jude attempted to brush my hair back over my shoulder, but it was cemented in place. “Do you want me to get you a drink?”

“Sure.”

He nodded and went to the bar.

“Please tell me you’re fucking that glorious hunk of man meat,” Daisy said.

Luna shook her head at our blunt friend.

“You guys, I don’t know what I’m doing with him,” I said. “It’s so inappropriate.”

“And unprofessional?” Daisy asked.

“Yes.”

“Good,” she said. “You need some inappropriate in your life.”

I smiled. “I guess so. And we were very, very inappropriate.”

“You look happy,” Luna said. “And refreshed. I’m glad for you.”

“Thanks.”

Jude came back with a neon orange cocktail. He and I wandered around a little, chatting with people. Enjoying the music. It felt good. Relaxed. Fun. Jude even smiled.

The band started one of my favorite cheesy love songs—"Lost in Your Eyes.” I glanced at Jude and gave the dance floor a pointed look. He smiled at me, acquiescing with a subtle shrug, and took me out to the dance floor.

He held one hand and wrapped the other around my waist while we swayed to the music. Mrs. Chang, one of the WWs, danced with Reggie Drinkwater, a hotelier and recent addition to Bluewater. Emily and Derek embraced nearby. Daisy and Luna did a giggling impression of awkward middle schoolers attempting to slow dance, and other couples crowded around, their brightly colored clothes sparkling in the neon lights.

I rested my head against Jude’s chest. And in that moment, wearing garish makeup and gold leg warmers, dancing to a cover band’s rendition of Debbie Gibson, I fell a little bit in love with Jude Ellis.

23

Jude

I slept better with Cameron mere inches away. I’d put my things in a guest room—not wanting to assume that I’d been invited to share her bedroom—but she came out of her home office every night and asked if I’d come to bed with her.

Of course the answer was yes. I couldn’t get enough of her.

After only a few days, we’d already settled into a comfortable routine. We were both early risers, so we’d get up and hit her gym first thing. Inda knew her shit. She worked Cameron hard, and she had some good suggestions for me to keep my shoulder joints healthy—a common place for a big guy like me to have problems.

Then coffee and a light breakfast with a view of the bay, marred only once by the appearance of horny dolphins engaging in some very explicit behavior.

We’d get ready for work and drive to her office. Evenings were spent chatting about our day over dinner, catching up on more work, and watching TV in bed together. Turned out she liked cooking shows as much as I did.

Some of it felt so normal, a tempting version of the ordinary life I kept telling myself I needed. And it scared me a bit to realize how quickly we’d molded our lives and routines around each other. It had been effortless, like we’d been living and working together for years, not days.

But much of it was anything but ordinary. Cameron’s life was filled with decisions that affected the lives of thousands of people. With steering the vision of an aerospace empire. She’d always be subjected to a high degree of scrutiny. Always exist at least partially in the spotlight.

Always need someone like me.

Dangerous thoughts to be having just days after realizing my infatuation with her wasn’t one-sided.

But I still had a job to do. I’d spent the last few evenings making modifications to her home security—adding cameras and more motion detectors, as well as adjusting the angles to eliminate blind spots. As expected, the police didn’t have any leads on the break-in. No fingerprints. There were too many places to buy red snapper in Miami to trace the origin of the fish.

I was frustrated as hell.

Still dressed in a sweaty tank top and shorts after a morning workout—Cameron was showering upstairs—I rooted through her kitchen cupboards. One of these days, I was going to slip into that enormous walk-in shower with her. But today she had an